


Lucky Men

by remolupin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remolupin/pseuds/remolupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU; Remus had always considered himself a lucky man. Sirius had always considered himself luckier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Men

At sixteen, Sirius hated cello more than he hated anything--more than he hated his cousin Bellatrix, more than he hated studying his family lineage, more than he hated having roast lamb for dinner. He hated the bow, he hated the hours spent tuning, he hated the calluses that roughed his long fingers. He especially hated that this was all a lie.

Cello was, for Sirius, what football was for his friend James, and what stamp collecting was for Peter. A door to relaxation, a stream to wash away stress, and a rock to keep balance in occasionally turbulent lives. Although eyes were rolled when James came from practices all muddy, and jibes were had whenever Peter spent a good half hour raving about the ultra-rare collectible from Taiwan his Nan sent over, they were able to ignore it in favour of the happiness and pride and all that puff and ponce that came along with it. 

Sirius wasn't afforded that luxury, however. His family had a longstanding musical history, largely with strings. It was a source of pride for the Blacks, that they were all able to claim well-rounded expertise in all subjects they deemed worthy, even if they continued on to work under the family businesses instead of doing anything with their skill (other than impressing important clients at dinners). Even if cello brought Sirius the happiness and pride that football and stamps brought to his friends, it was a forced talent, one he didn't choose. He could admit the dramatic tragedy involved; he loved the cello, he loved the bow and the tuning and the bloody calluses, but he hated that it wasn't something that could belong solely to him.

There was no tragedy, however, in his complete hatred for cello lessons. 

Master Eustace Archibald (the Third) was the most pompous, haughty, boastful ass of a man that Sirius ever had the misfortune of meeting. And it was, of course, even more in his misfortune that he had to sit in his company biweekly for lessons (although Sirius did think that it was good preparation for hell). Master Archibald was strict and commanding, with the air of importance that Sirius was quite used to within his own family (where that importance was, unfortunately, well-earned) but didn't fit the bulbous man whose only era of importance was a three-year-long stint in the national orchestra. But he was, apparently, a master, and enough of one that his parents allowed him to instruct their heir to the art.

The lessons themselves consisted mostly of Master Archibald yelling to _tighten that bow_ or _fix your damned fingers, Black!_ and never straying from the rigid constrictions that classical cello seemed to have. It was never the music Sirius enjoyed--nothing soulful or emotional or soul-bearing--and while he was almost grateful that his soul wouldn't have to be beared in front of this walrus of a man, it didn't make Bach's Preludes any less tedious.

To make matters even worse, Master Archibald seemed to have a complete inability to be on time, despite requiring his students to be in the practice room a full ten minutes before the lesson was due to start. Sirius usually didn't mind, using the extra time to play a few pieces that made it all bearable, but this time he had a rather urgent problem and a sad lack of knowledge about the layout of the old building. It used to be a rather prestigious boarding school, Sirius knew, but it fell into misuse after a fire, and after renovations, became a smaller music school, offering scholarships for full-time students and lessons like his own. But even with renovations, it appeared, as Sirius peeked out the door and down the hall, they hadn't thought to clearly label the bathrooms.

"Fuck," Sirius muttered, bouncing on his feet a bit and checking his watch. He guessed he had about another quarter of an hour before Archibald finally wandered down, which should give him time to find a bloody restroom, fix his damned bladder, and get back for a good and miserable three hours of scales and arpeggios and wishes for death.

"Fuck," Sirius hissed again as he made up his mind, closing the door quietly behind him and starting off down the hall. 

This school actually was hell, he decided, ten minutes into his journey with a full bladder and no restroom in sight. A cruel hell for doomed musicians and rebellious heirs alike. A despicable hell without good conscience or justice of a fucking _toilet_ or-- "Oh thank all the fucking gods," Sirius nearly whimpered as he spotted one. It was with great relief and feeling of success he walked back out the door, only to realise that he was still in hell, and even if hell had a loo, it didn't have a straightforward floor plan or a good sense of humour.

Good old Archie was probably already in the room, placing a call to his parents and smiling at Sirius's inevitable demise. With a groan, Sirius started walking in what he really, really hoped was the way he came. As the corridors turned into dormitory halls and the halls turned into dining rooms, he figured that he had probably made quite a few bad turns. Students in varying articles of uniform looked at him a bit strangely as he passed, and although it wasn't an altogether unfriendly gaze, he was sure they could sense that he definitely did not belong there and it was enough to make him uncomfortable. The halls grew increasingly unfamiliar as he walked on, until Sirius was pretty sure that it was only his dignity that kept him from having a breakdown.

"Shit," he whispered to himself, slipping past a pair of students to try and get his bearings. "This is--not very good, Sirius, I hope you know that--"

"Um, excuse me?" Sirius jumped as a hand touched his shoulder, spinning around with a blush to his cheeks. The boy who tapped him wasn't shorter than him, really, but he had a figure slight enough to make it seem that way. He was holding the strap of his bag in one hand, a school issued blazer was folded over the other. Sandy curls fell just over his ears, freckles specked across his cheeks, lightly bowed lips moved with a clumsy grace, eyebrows furrowed over lovely amber-brown eyes and--

"Shit!" Sirius started, rubbing a hand over his eyes in embarrassment, face already burning. "I-I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"I asked if you were all right," he repeated, in equal parts amusement and concern. "You seem a bit--lost."

Sirius rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, smiling sheepishly. "Yeah, well."

The boy grinned, and Sirius's heart fluttered. Actually fucking _fluttered_. "Where are you headed? I'll see if I can't get you there."

"The practice rooms, ah, number two oh four."

The surprised quirk of his eyebrows let Sirius know that he was, indeed, a long way from home. "Right, well. Have you--been here before?" He nodded down the hall and started walking, Sirius falling into step beside him.

"I have, actually. I've been talking lessons here for--" Sirius laughed a bit. "Well. Since I was six. I've just--never been outside of that wing before. For good reason, it would appear."

The boy--who had to be at least two years younger, Sirius thought, there's no way anyone older could hold such an air of cute all about him--laughed too, adjusting his bag. "Don't worry about it. I still get lost sometimes and I've been here for years."

Sirius couldn't help but watch him out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah? At least I have that consolation." He smiled over at him. "What do you study, if you don’t mind me asking?” He had already made several rather embarrassing observations—his voice was smooth and light enough to be a vocal student’s (and he’d look like an angel in those stupid robes), his hands looked strong enough for percussion, his lips—well. He had lips fit for _something_. 

“Piano.” He replied, which thankfully stopped Sirius’s train of thought. “And composition.”

Sirius nodded, allowing him to lead him around the corner. “I’m—cello. But nothing else. I can, um, I could do theory but—“

The angel-boy smiled politely, which was more than Sirius felt he deserved as he was pretty sure he was making a bit of a fool of himself. “So you study under Master Archibald, then?” Sirius’s grimace was an answer in itself. “I’m sorry. I’ve got him for theory, it’s—erm—it’s an experience.”

Sirius laughed. “I’ll say. Oh—ah. I’m Sirius, by the way.”

The boy took his offered hand. “Remus.”

“Remus,” Sirius repeated. It was the name of an angel.

\---

Remus successfully led him through the ridiculous maze of hallways, teasingly pointing out every restroom they passed after Sirius told him what made him go through it all in the first place. It was a shorter walk back than Sirius would have liked, but he noticed that neither of them stopped smiling the entire way there.

“Well,” Remus said, gesturing to Sirius’s practice room. “Here we are.”

“Yeah, ah. I guess we are.” After this, Sirius really doubted he could survive another monotonous lesson.

“It was—it was nice meeting you, Sirius.”

Sirius grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, you too.”

“Mister Black—“ Master Archibald droned from behind them, causing Sirius to wince. “How _kind_ of you to attend your personal lesson.”

“Sir, I—“

“He got lost, sir.” Remus said, smiling like the bloody angel he had to be. “You know how terrible these hallways are.”

“You were lost,” Archibald said, fixing his iciest glare on Sirius, “for an entire half hour?”

“Well—“

“He was, sir, I promise. I ran into him all the way down in the Languages hall.” Remus nodded with confidence, still smiling that smile that was sure to haunt Sirius’s dreams from then on.

Archibald heaved a world-weary sigh. “I’ll take your word for it, Lupin. Go on, now.”

Remus—Remus Lupin gave him a crinkle-eyed smile as he started to go, giving a small wave. Neither of them had to ask to see each other again, they could feel it between every word.

Archibald was still grumbling as Sirius took his seat, pulling his already-prepared cello between his legs. “Now if you could play with half the passion Lupin plays with, young man, you could have the world at your fingertips.“

Sirius didn’t doubt it for a second.

\---

Sirius decided to seek Remus out after his second lesson that week, packing his cello up and figuring that the best method of location was wandering around the halls again and placing hope against hope that he’d spot that curly head somewhere. But Remus, it turned out, seemed to have that same plan in mind, leading them to bump into each other around a corner.

“Uh, hey—“ he smiled a bit awkwardly, lending a hand to help straighten Sirius up. “I was, um, just about to go see if you were here, actually—“

Sirius grinned widely. “I am. As you can see.”

Remus’s eyes crinkled. Sirius fell a little bit in love. “I can. I—I was wondering if you’d like to maybe—play together sometime?”

“What, music?” Remus gave him a look that was probably more concerned for his mental well-being than anything else. “Oh, well—that would be really nice, actually, um—now?”

“If now is okay with you—“

“Now’s great!” They could both feel the awkward desperation in their voices, a blush rising to both their cheeks. It took only a moment of silence before they both started to laugh, Remus running a hand through his hair and Sirius adjusting his cello case. “Really, though. Now would be great.”

“This way.” Remus grinned, starting down the hall. “Don’t get lost.”

“You’re quite cruel, you know. I like that.”

Their shared practices became a _thing_ very quickly after that. Sirius found himself looking for Remus even on days when he didn’t have lessons, and after numbers were exchanged, Remus would call to ask if he was available for a few hours. It was a thing Sirius was very glad to have, he discovered, and Remus turned out to be a friend whose “best” status was matched only by James.

When they talked, it was about everything and nothing and all in between. By the end of the tenth session they had together, Sirius was pretty sure he could name the most trivial details about the angel that was Remus Lupin, and that Remus could say the same—but for the most part, they strayed away from the Big Topics, the things that made them unhappy. For Sirius, that was his family, and for Remus—well. Sirius couldn’t say he knew.

They quickly fell into a rhythm when they played together, as well. It began by asking if the other knew a certain concerto or movement, then giving modern songs a more classical twist, and then forgoing all knowledge of proper composure and form and creating their own music, which tended to involve either smashing keys and screeching strings, or mournful vibratos and heart-rending adagios. 

Their sessions were like a quiet understanding, meant for them and no one else.

\---

It took nearly a year before Sirius felt like he was allowed to ask.

“There’s a reason, isn’t there?” Sirius asked during one of their days together. He was only half-sure he imagined Remus’s fingers hesitating before they continued to dance over the keys.

“A reason for what?” Remus asked quietly, not looking up at him.

Sirius ran resin down his bow, watching him carefully. “A reason why you play like that. All—heavy and full and, well. Like it means something.”

Sirius knew he didn’t imagine Remus’s hesitation this time. He kept playing, something slow and thick and old, putting meaning behind ancient melodies. It was one of Sirius’s favourite things about Remus, or Remus’s music, at least. He could take pieces that could have meant the world to their composers and absolutely nothing to everyone else, and give it all the attention and worth its creators had intended. It was a thing of beauty, really, and even Sirius, with his heaved sighs and rolled eyes at everything classical in the world, had to admit it.

“It’s a ten year reason,” Remus murmured after a few moments, just loud enough to be heard over the piano. “Fifteen, if I’m lucky.”

It was a heavy admittance, Sirius could tell, one that hadn’t been said to many people. Remus kept his eyes downcast but he could see the furrow of his brow, hear the pressure change in the notes.

“Remus—“

“What?” He snapped, voice tense. He was prepared for pity or comfort, some sort of unknowledgeable sympathy.

Sirius reached over, poking his forehead with his bow. “Stop with that Mozart shit. Play the Gershwin piece I like.”

Remus looked at him, his eyes still sharp with an intensity that began to fade the longer he stared. “You don’t even like his good ones, you dolt. I’ll play something else.”

\---

There were days when Sirius would wait for hours in their practice room, tuning his cello and putting resin on his bow, never playing anything until Remus came. But Remus never came on those days, and Sirius was left in a soundproof room with a silent piano and enough worry for Sirius to pace a dent in the floor.

Sirius kept from pacing, however, not wanting to leave evidence of his concern. Remus hated pity, he reminded himself, and he didn’t need it besides. Remus was strong and didn’t need anyone else to be strong for him, but Sirius would be anyways, even if Remus didn’t know it.

He would stay in the room until he was certain Remus wouldn’t be making an appearance that day, then he’d pack up his cello and leave through the door that led to the alley. He’d go to a little shop a few streets over, buy those too-sweet Belgian chocolates Remus loved so much, and the sappiest Get Well Soon! card he could find. He’d write the biggest pieces of news he could think of ( _I think Regs has a secret girlfriend!! Or boyfriend??_ ) and hurry back to the school, asking the receptionist to have it sent up to the infirmary.

Those days weren’t the best days, but Sirius would take what he could.

\---

“I’m thinking about Nottingham.” Remus announced, tapping out a simple melody with one hand.

It took Sirius by surprise. He knew (of course he did) that they would both be going somewhere after school had finished, but it never really occurred to him that it would be—just like _that_. He managed to get out a small _Oh?_ and Remus nodded.

“They’ve got a really great music program. And there are some first class composition professors there, too. And it’s not one of the most major music universities so I just might be able to get in.”

“You could get in anywhere, Rem.” He smiled, even when the other boy rolled his eyes. “What, don’t believe me?”

“I believe that you believe that.” Remus smiled at him, leaning back on his bench. “And you have my thanks, of course. But your opinion is skewed.”

“Skewed by what?” he snorted.

Remus merely shrugged and resumed his playing. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the peculiar pink tinge to Remus’s cheeks or the small smile playing on his lips. He still looked like an angel, then, even after two years.

Maybe his opinion was skewed, but he hardly thought Remus could know about it. He supposed _friends_ held each other to different standards, though. But as Remus kept playing, something light and airy and full all the same, he knew he was right. “You could get in.” he said after a moment.

Remus smiled at him and played on, watching as Sirius began to draw his bow across the strings and play along.

\---

Remus, Sirius, James, and Peter all joined up to fill out their applications together. Remus helped them all with the essays, James helped everyone with various maths, Peter offered those stupid _describe yourself_ words, and Sirius gave the welcome distractions of soda and sweets. 

\---

Sirius always thought that when he turned eighteen, his future would become his own. But it was stupid to have thought that, really. He knew he would go to a family-chosen university, study a family-chosen subject, continue on into a family-chosen business. His future didn’t belong to him and he should have realised that from the start. But it didn’t change the strange hollowness he felt as his parents discussed the merits of Cambridge’s economics program versus Oxford’s business studies, not asking for his input or opinion or even which program he preferred. He pushed his peas around his plate, shaking his head a bit when Regulus nudged his ankle.

“Actually,” he interrupted, surprising himself. “I was thinking about Nottingham.”

He was rewarded with their shocked stares, and another questioning nudge from Regs.

His mother wiped away her shock with a napkin to the corner of her mouth. “Don’t be preposterous, Sirius. Nottingham is—not to your standards.”

His father nodded, taking a sip of wine. “Horrid business sector if I remember correctly.”

“I wouldn’t go for business. They have a really great composition program, though.” That put the shock back on their faces, he noted smugly.

“You aren’t going to study composition, Sirius.” His mother actually looked genuinely confused, and Sirius took a moment to revel in delight.

“No,” he agreed with a smile. “I’m not.”

Even when their discussion resumed, throwing out the names of Oxford students and Cambridge professors, Sirius couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed, smiling toothily at Regulus when he managed to steal a bite of cake from his plate. Regulus, bless him, even managed to smile back, even through his glare.

\---

Remus received an early admittance letter to Nottingham, and Sirius received a joyful hug and the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. They went out for lunch that day, instead of staying in their little room. A group of music supply store clerks and their customers were given a performance of a lifetime, with the most enthusiastic piano and cello duet any one of them had ever seen.

Sirius returned a still-ecstatic Remus to the school later that afternoon, and no matter how lovely Remus’s smile was and how happy a happy Remus made him, he couldn’t shake that empty sadness that had taken residence in the very back of his mind.

Feelings were stupid, he decided, especially that one. But he still couldn’t get rid of it, despite the Remus-filled hours that took up the next few months. Other feelings—much better ones, in his opinion—took up its space during the day, but it was what niggled at him restlessly during the late night, leaving him to wonder what state he’d be in when his life was decidedly more Remusless. 

\---

The day of Remus’s departure, Sirius met him at the school and hugged him before they even started walking to the train station. Remus blushed and laughed and it was as beautiful as it always was, even as flustered as it sounded.

“What was that for?” he asked, moving a stray curl away from his forehead.

“Being you.”

“Ass.”

Sirius grinned and hugged him again.

They talked all the way to the station, about where Remus was staying, the classes he signed up for, Sirius’s plan to grow a moustache. (“I’m going to do it now! Just to make you mad!”)

Sirius pretended not to notice the white-knuckled grip Remus had on his bag, or the way he kept looking over at Sirius like it was the last time he ever would. Just like Remus wanted him to. Just like Remus did the same for him.

They got to the station with a good ten minutes to spare and Remus looked over at him with an almost desperate panic in his eyes. Sirius’s heart ached as he grabbed him by the shoulders, looking into his eyes with as much seriousness as he could muster. “Remus, you’re going to do great, you know? You’re going to be brilliant and you’re going to ace all your stupid classes and you’re going to have about twenty award winning compositions by the end of this year. You’re going to meet a bunch of people and make a bunch of friends and you’re not—not going to forget about me. Yeah?”

Remus nodded, biting his lip to keep his jaw from shaking.

“You’re gonna do great, Rem.” Sirius pulled him into another hug, warm and tight and filled with everything he couldn’t say. “Call me every bloody chance you get.” He muttered into Remus’s hair. “Don’t stay out partying all night, don’t—well, talk to some strangers, and—and brush your teeth!”

“Yes, mum.” Remus snorted a bit, his fingers tightening on Sirius’s shirt. “You’d better do the same.”

“I’m a sucker for dental hygiene.” Sirius could practically hear Remus roll his eyes. “But really, Remus.”

“I know, Sirius.” His nose nudged Sirius’s shoulder once before he let go, wiping at his eyes as surreptitiously as he could. “Don’t be too stupid while I’m gone.”

“I won’t. I’ll wait for you to get back.”

He nodded, fingers clutching his bag strap and eyes staring steadily at the floor.

“Remus?” Sirius waited until those stupidly beautiful eyes were on him. “You—you’re going to get on that train now, okay? And I—I’m not gonna wait until it’s gone or wave you off or anything because if I do there is absolutely no guaranteeing that I won’t drag you off it when I get the chance.” Remus nodded, teeth sinking into his lip again. “Be good, okay? But not too good.”

“O-okay.” Sirius gave him a clap on the shoulder that would have been awkward if it hadn’t lingered so long, giving him a look over that would have to keep him sane until god-knows-when. He stepped back, then, with what he hoped was a smile. Remus stared.

“Get on the train, Rem.”

“S-Sirius, I—“ he swallowed, looking at the train and back to him. “It was nice meeting you.”

Sirius only looked at him for a moment before letting out a barking laugh, scooping him up into a hug again, their cheeks smooshing together. “You too, Remus Lupin.”

There were no _I’ll miss you_ s or _I’ll see you soon_ s, but they could both hear them between every word.

\---

It was nearing the middle of the summer when Sirius sat at the table, his acceptance letters to Oxford and Cambridge and Edinburgh and bloody London and everywhere else in front of him, his parents on either side weeding out the ones they didn’t find suitable. 

The letter to Nottingham was tucked securely in his pocket, offering promises of a good scholarship and a better education and the best hope he could have imagined.

\---

Sirius packed his bags a week and a half later, taking only what he could carry (which wasn’t much, with the cello strapped to his back). He put his savings into his own account, along with whatever trust money he could grab.

He waited until his parents were sure to be asleep before going over to Regulus’s room, ruffling his hair. 

“Nottingham, huh?” Regulus sighed, giving him a look that said _this is a terrible idea, you know?_ But Sirius could see the love tucked behind it, and grinned in response. “You’re going to get cut off, you know that, right?”

Sirius shrugged. “I know. I’ve got some stashed away, and a bit of a scholarship. I’ll get a job whenever I can.”

“You’ve never worked a day in your life,” Regulus quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “It’s a shame that I’ll miss seeing it.”

“Could always come down for a visit, Regs, I’m sure we’d find room for you.”

He shook his head, shrugging in apology. “I think I’d better wait until they cool down. This—this isn’t like running off to Potter’s, you know? They’re not going to let this one go.”

“I know, I know—“ Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not really—I don’t plan on coming back. It’s not—what they want for me, for us, isn’t what I want. And there’s only one life to live and—“

“Are you really going to get all philosophical on me right now?”

Sirius grinned. “Knew I tolerated you for a reason, babycat.”

“Don’t call me that.” Regulus objected, but the smile on his face said otherwise.

“I can call you whatever I like.” He sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing his brother’s wrist to pull him down with him. He put an arm around Regulus’s shoulders and smiled a bit when he leaned into his side instead of pulling away. “You sure you won’t come with me?”

“I think I’ll stay here. _With_ the fortune and trust fund.” He sighed, looking up at Sirius, their eyes still just alike. “You’re stupid.”

Sirius laughed quietly, kissing his forehead. “You’re officially going to be the good kid now, Regs. Embrace it. Convince them to get you a cat.” Regulus rolled his eyes, arms circling around his waist. “I’d better see you soon, kid. I mean it about coming up to visit sometime.”

Regulus nodded into his side, sighing. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Sirius.”

“I never do.” Sirius grinned, kissing his forehead again. “Be good, babycat.”

Regulus watched him leave through the window, giving a small wave and a smaller smile when Sirius spotted him. “You’d better be happy, brother.”

\---

Two months into his life in Nottingham, Remus already hated one of his flatmates and loved the other. He had a great job at a bookshop, even if the pay was smaller than what he’d like. It was all he needed, anyways. There was a really nice tea shop down the road in one direction, and an even nicer Thai place in the other. The neighbours were friendly, the weather was mild, and his room was bigger than it had been at the school, even with the upright piano shoved against the wall. All in all, he could have been doing worse for himself.

Which made those feelings of everything being _not enough_ really quite frustrating.

Remus knew what was missing, of course, it would have been impossible not to. He and Sirius had seen each other almost daily for the past three years. Having that contact suddenly cut out of his life left him admittedly a little worse-for-wear.

They kept up a good, steady stream of phone calls, of course, with Sirius venting about his parents or telling of his adventures with James, and Remus ranting about bloody Kevin the roommate and his awful drums or talking of his friendly tea dates with Lily. But even after hearing from Sirius, Remus felt an ache in his chest and an itch in his bones that only Sirius’s stupid face could cure. And Lily, curse her lovely soul, would only giggle at him, tell him he’s got it bad, and take him out for tea.

He hoped Sirius was doing okay. He could tell what Sirius wasn’t saying when they were together, could see his expressions or the way his fingers plucked at the strings of his cello, but only talking over the phone left quite a bit of room for him to tuck things away that shouldn’t be tucked, keep too many concerns quiet. Despite the rather good life he found in Nottingham, he found himself wishing to be back in that practice room, playing with Sirius for hours, talking about nothing and everything, having the best friend he thought he’d never have.

 _Stupid Sirius,_ he thought. _Stupid Sirius and his stupid face._

When he answered the door a few days later to find stupid Sirius and his stupid face smiling sheepishly at him, he knew it was something he _probably_ shouldn’t have been expecting.

“Hey, Rem. I, ah—do you mind if I stay a while?” Sirius asked. He had bags in hand, cello case on his back, hair all scruffed up from what must’ve been a night on the train.

Remus stepped away from the door, trying to bite back a smile. “I did say not to be too stupid, you know.”

“I know,” Sirius grinned, placing his things against the wall before straightening back up. “But you know me. I can’t resist a good bit of stupid.”

Remus knew he should have been surprised when Sirius kissed him; Sirius knew he should have been surprised when Remus kissed back. It felt like it had been done a thousand times before, and would be done a million times after, and it was so absurdly perfect that Remus felt the need to take a step back and a deep breath and evaluate _how_ this could be happening. But Sirius’s lips over his own felt too right and much too nice for him to even try.

\---

Lily opened his bedroom door a few hours later only to find luggage on the floor, clothes over the piano, and two very naked boys tangled together on the bed.

“You must be Sirius,” she smiled, and it occurred to Remus (not for the first time) that she was quite possibly a saint.

“Erm.” Sirius blinked, Remus nodded for him, his head on Sirius’s chest.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you—I’m off to work now, though, I’ll bring some Thai for us all when I come home.”

“Thanks, Lily. You’re a dear,” Remus smiled.

“Don’t I know it.” She winked. “And Remus?”

“Mm?”

“I told you so.”

The pillow Remus threw hit the door, and they could hear Lily’s laughter until she was out of the flat. Sirius stared after her for a good moment before nodding in approval. “We’d better keep her away from Jamie, though, she’d either break his heart or break his face.”

(The first meeting of Miss Lily Evans and Mister James Potter began with a broken nose, went through several apologies, and ended with a quickly ebbing hatred. Remus and Peter bet that a date would be had in at least two months, Sirius said four. James and Lily planned the date to fall exactly in the middle just to spite them all.)

\---

It took a few years, but Remus and Sirius finally agreed that a double bed probably wasn’t big enough for the both of them, and that their current room was probably not large enough for anything bigger.

They found a townhouse with relatively soundproofed walls and surfaces that were just begging to be christened. James and Lily helped move them in, Peter pretended to but really just ate their sandwiches. Regulus sent over a ridiculous balloon-o-gram simply because he knew Sirius would hate it (the card that came with it remained on their mantelpiece as a permanent decoration, right next to Sirius’s marathon participant trophy and Remus’s dead houseplant).

Over time, their little townhouse became the essence of _them_. Remus’s piano had to be moved eighteen times before he found a satisfactory spot, and the curtains were destroyed through various kitchen fires and drunken nights until they discovered something durable enough to withstand it all.

Their friends all came over every Friday night to watch the game (well, James, Sirius, and Peter watched the game. Lily and Remus did their best to avoid it.) and get just tipsy enough to still be able to walk home. Regulus came over on occasion, as well, bringing the best wines from the Black family cellars and not even objecting when Sirius pulled him over for a manly-brother-cuddle. A few of Remus’s cousins even crashed there every so often, flirting jokingly with Sirius and dishing stories of Remus's younger years.

There were always dirty dishes on the table and crumbs on the couch and more dusting probably should have been involved, but it was theirs and it was beautiful and it was home.

It was filled with music and laughter and years of happiness, with Remus and Sirius and everything they loved. Memories filled every room, right beside the photographs and stray sheets of paper and cups of cold tea. But time had a tendency to bring old worries to the forefront or present new ones in their stead.

\--- 

Remus had always thought himself to be a very lucky man.

He had been born with a gift, and given a strong mind to use with it. He had been sent to a fantastic college, and earned his way to a fantastic university. He had met people he loved and people that loved him and people he knew would love him even after he was gone. He hoped he could love them back.

But he had also been given a curse, one that gave him a limited time to love and learn and live.

Remus reached the ten year mark with a heavy heart, holding Sirius’s hand as they went to the doctor. He checked out healthy—very surprisingly so, for a man with his condition. He was guaranteed to the world—to Sirius—for at least another year.

He did the only thing he could, living by the advice he thought was completely whimsical until it became a threat. _Live each day like it was your last_. And so he did. He played the piano, read books, had sex, made good food. He held Sirius’s hand in the morning, curled around him late at night. He kissed the Potter child’s head, gave kittens a home for the night, went to the stupid fair Sirius had given him those puppy eyes about. He lived every day like he wanted, smiling and laughing or quiet and serene.

They played together, just as they had always done. Just as they hoped they always will.

\---

Fifteen years brought a heavy heart, but not a broken one.

Remus composed something, a journey through notes and melodies and wordless stories. It told of his pain, of his happiness, of Sirius in the snow. It told of everything that Remus needed to be told. All it took was someone to decipher it with the attention it deserved.

He played it one evening for all of them, with their favourite take-away boxes on the table and the littlest Potter asleep in Sirius’s arms.

Peter said it needed more explosions, Lily said it was the most beautiful piece she’d ever heard, James nodded and could tell beauty when he heard it, even after being hit upside the head with footballs all these years.

Sirius could only gaze into Remus’s eyes and see his heart and soul and everything he loved.

They lay in bed that night after the others were gone, tucked safely in each other’s arms, hands roaming with reverence and adoration, words on the tip of their tongues that didn’t need to be said.

It was a bittersweet reassurance for the both of them. Remus was there, warm and breathing and alive, even past the mark that counted him as lucky. Sirius was there, with all he wished for and all he loved, counting himself even luckier.

“I love you,” he whispered into graying curly hair. “I love you—“

“I know.” Remus replied, fingers curling at his back. He was there, he reminded himself, still strong and heart still beating.

Remus had always been a very lucky man.

\---

Twenty years was enough to astound the doctors, to have then ask a million questions and write to medical journals and see the miraculously slow deterioration. It was enough to give Remus and Sirius hope for a tomorrow, and a tomorrow after that, and a million tomorrows to follow. It was enough to send them off for a few small trips, to Peru and Auckland and other places they had always wanted to see but had always been too busy to convince themselves. It was enough to fill with late nights in bed and later morning afterwards, to read in each other’s arms, to stargaze, with their hands as entwined as they always had been.

The piano and the cello were played together, with soft smiles and shed tears and loud laughter during the most inopportune times. 

The _I love you_ s and _forever_ s were said a little more often now, but meant even more when they weren’t.

Remus’s hand found his late one night, shaking as its owner was wracked with sobs. “S-Sirius—“

“I know.” Sirius said, holding him in his arms. “I know.”

\---

Twenty-two years saw Sirius coming home to an empty house.

He didn’t bother to turn on the lights. Everything was as it had been the last night. Their dinner plates were drying on the rack, the window was still open to let in the fall breeze, the cello was leaned against the piano. Sirius could still hear Remus playing like he had been the night before, something calm and beautiful and overwhelmingly sad. 

Sirius sat where Remus had, ran his fingers over the keys without pressing down.

He could practically feel Remus’s hands ghosting over his, showing him the correct notes, telling him it was all right.

He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking, breath coming out in desperate gasps.

Regulus found him like that hours later and put a hand on his back. “Come on.”

Sirius shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t—“

“You can. Remus wouldn’t want you to be like this.”

“You’re a manipulative bastard.”

Regulus sat beside him and didn’t say anything as Sirius fell into his arms, tears wetting his neck and fingers grasping for someone Regulus was not. 

“You’re staying here tonight—“ Sirius said, as soon as he regained the ability to speak. “And—and tomorrow you’re gonna help me get so fucking drunk neither of us can stand and your secret girlfriend will be as mad as you as Remus would’ve been with me."

“She’s not my _secret girlfriend_ , you prick. _You_ were my best man.”

She wasn’t as mad as she could have been, Regulus noticed. But then, Remus probably wouldn’t have been that mad either.

\---

Sirius knew Remus would have wanted him to move on; he would have wanted him to sell the piano and get that motorbike he always wanted, throw away the pillows that would always smell like Remus, hell, he’d probably want him to get new mugs because he knew just where Remus’s lips always touched.

 _Fuck it_ , Sirius thought. Remus was gone. Sirius didn’t have to do what he wanted.

It took longer than he thought it would, really. Walking through the empty house with memories pasted to every wall probably should have driven him mad within the week. But as it was, sitting in Remus’s chair, touching where Remus had touched, breathing in the icy winter air just as Remus liked to do—it had all been enough, for a while. It hadn’t been a substitute; it hadn’t even been close to being one. But it had been enough. He lasted a year before he was sure.

He hugged James and Lily that day, ruffled Harry’s hair and kissed little Amelia’s temple. He thumped Peter on the back and thanked his girlfriend for the casserole she sent home with him. He called Regulus, asked after the wife and son.

“You’ve got a niece, too, you know?” Regulus asked. Sirius could hear her babbling happily in his arms.

“I know. But if I let her think I don’t, she’ll just be surprised when she figures out she’s my favourite.”

He sat in Remus’s chair again, fixed his coffee the way Remus liked his. His fingers ran over the keys, never pressing down. Those notes weren’t for him to make.

He breathed in the icy air, looking out at the world with a sad, knowing smile. He looked around at their home, with its memories and photographs and ugly curtains, remembering Remus in every room, and he went to sleep.

\---

“I told you not to do anything stupid.” Remus said, trying his best to glare at him.

Sirius grinned. “You know me.”


End file.
